


Pirate, Princess, Thief

by Gimmemocha



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmemocha/pseuds/Gimmemocha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to a prompt (this is the slightly edited version of it):<br/><em>I'm finally reading Dragon Age Library Edition Vol 1 (the collection of the three comics; the Alistair + Varric + Isabella one).  In which there's a semi-throw away panel where Varric remarks about some scars he got when he was in Ostwick and the interesting story behind them. But when Alistair asks about it, Varric doesn't answer.</em></p><p>  <em>That's it. I want the story of Varric's time in Ostwick. And preferably where he runs into one Trevelyan...</em></p><p>This, then, takes place sometime between the end of DA2 and the comic books, before the events of Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"So. Varric Tethras, storyteller."

Varric eyed the speaker over his ale. She sat without being invited, but she was pretty enough that she was probably accustomed to single males – and likely a few not-so-single ones – welcoming her attention. She had red hair bound back in some kind of braid, though he couldn't guess how long it was. Long, he would bet. Four words were enough to tell her accent wasn't from anywhere in the Docks, and rich women could spend time growing their hair out.

No, he decided as he lowered his mug. With that soft hand he could see cupping her chin, that smooth skin? She had nothing down here in the roughest district in Ostwick. Slumming, then. But there was a certain sparkle to her eyes, a hint of mischief that he decided he liked.

Even if she was young. Too young, he told himself.

"The very same," he said. "What's the matter, Princess? You looking for someone to tell you a bedtime story?"

That should back her off.

Or not. Her grin flashed at him. "Well, I did hear you could be quite creative, but no. That wasn't what I had in mind."

He couldn't suppress a snort of amusement. "All right, what did you have in mind, then?"

She gestured to one of the barmaids. "I'm going to buy you a drink and ask a favor."

"For one ale, it can't be much of a favor."

"That depends on how much you value your lock picks."

His hand twitched, but he managed to prevent himself from checking for the thin leather wallet that held the slender instruments. No sense advertising where they were. "I value them higher than a mug of the crap they serve in this place."

She folded her arms on the table and waited while the harried barmaid plopped a mug in front of Varric. "I just want to borrow them."

"Kid, if you think I'm letting you use my lock picks…"

"I don't want to use them. Just borrow them."

Interesting. "I get the feeling I'm coming into the middle of the story here. Maybe try starting at the beginning."

"Someone bet me I couldn't get my hands on your lock picks. I said I could. If I manage it, I'll get to learn to pick locks. I think I was supposed to pick your pocket, but since it wasn't specified, I thought I'd just ask."

Interestinger. "And why does someone like you want to learn to pick locks?"

"Someone like me?"

He wafted a gloved hand at her. "Pampered. Rich. A little spoiled."

She straightened in her chair. "I am not spoiled."

"Any minute now, you're going to stamp your dainty foot and huff."

"Look, are you going to give them to me or not?"

"Not," he said. "Not until you tell me why you want to pick locks, at least."

She shrugged, still annoyed at him to judge by the downward curve to her lips, the arms folded now over her chest, the very picture of spoiled pique. He didn't laugh. She probably really would stamp her foot. But it was a fight not to. 

"For something to do," she said. "Anything someone wants locked away is something I want to see."

"You have no idea how wrong you are, Princess. People lock away all manner of ugly things. It's not all jewels and love letters, you know."

"But mostly it is." She grinned at him again, flickering between moods like summer lightning.

Green, he decided. Her eyes were green; the sunburst around her pupils was too gold to make her eyes hazel.

"So you want to learn to pick locks to see other peoples' jewelry and love letters?"

She laughed, light and easy. "No, not necessarily. Just… to see what's there, behind the locks. It could be anything. Gold. Trade documents. Jewels. Assassin contracts. Weapons."

"People don't generally lock those up, you know. Too hard to get to when you need them."

"Oh." Disappointment flaring back to mischief. "Well, I didn't know, but if I knew how to pick locks, I'd have found out."

She really was young. Old enough to fill out the soft suede corset she wore over that pristine white shirt, but young enough to still think life was an adventure, that the shadows held only mysteries, that monsters belonged to another age.

Maker's tits, he felt old.

"Who bet you?"

"A pirate," she said, the gold of her eyes taking on a new sparkle.

A pirate. Some pervert who wanted to show the Princess a little something more than lock picking, he bet. But why send her to try and get his lock picks? Whoever he was, he had to know she'd fail to get them by picking his pockets. She didn't look like she could pick an apple, let alone anyone's pockets. So this probably wasn't about her at all.

It was about Varric.

He rose. "Ok, Princess," he said. "Lead the way."

Without standing, she held out her hand.

He handed over the lock picks he'd palmed, not letting her see where he hid them.

She laughed at his sleight of hand, then got to her feet and led him through the crowded room.

The Broken Anchor was a layered shithole of a bar, which made it even more his kind of place filled with his kind of people. There were three levels over the bar room, each open to the floor below, each with a hallway leading off to a set of rooms. A night at the Anchor wasn't complete unless someone was tossed from the top floor through the middle, one of many reasons there were no tables in the center of the floor on the first level.

The upper levels, though, were where the more clandestine meetings took place. Everyone could see who went up the stairs, but then they disappeared into the shadows of the dimly lit balconies. The Princess led him to the second story, then eeled her way through the crowd with movements of her hips that were a little too intriguing.

But for a kid, she sure did round things out nicely.

She slid his picks onto a table and dropped into a chair to the sound of rich peals of laughter.

He knew that laugh.

With a shake of his head, Varric pulled out the chair next to the kid and sat. "Isabela," he said. "I should've known."

"But you didn't," said the dark-haired beauty, picking up the lock picks and flipping them back at him. 

He counted them, made no secret of doing so. "So this is where you ended up. Nice of you to leave us all to die in a horde of rampaging Qunari, by the way. Hawke's just itching to thank you herself."

"Oh, her," Isabela wrinkled her nose. "She'd just have given it back to them, and then I wouldn't have been able to sell it."

"So you did sell it?"

She sighed and shook her head, wide golden hoops shimmering in the faint light. "No. If I had, I'd be at a much better tavern."

"No you wouldn't."

Her laugh sailed bright over the noise of the crowd. "Not a bit," she said. Then she turned her deep amber eyes to the girl. "Clever thing, aren't you?"

"You didn't say I had to steal them from him."

"It was deliberate," Varric said.

"Of course it was, darling," Isabela assured him. "Sending her after you was like sending a kitten after a Mabari."

"There are easier ways of getting my attention," he told her over Princess's indignant huff.

"But see, I've accomplished two goals!" Isabela gestured at them both. "Now I know she's clever and you're still as curious as ever."

"Uh oh. Run," he advised the girl.

"Now Varric, don't be so suspicious."

He leaned forward, ignoring the brush of the girl's soft thigh across his. "Are you or are you not planning some kind of heist?"

"Heist! I would never."

"You'd steal Andraste's knickers if you thought there was a profit in it," he said. "While she was wearing them."

"Not really," Isabela confided to the kid. "By the time I talked her out of them, she wouldn't be wearing them anymore."

The girl laughed.

"Don't encourage her," Varric said. "C'mon, Rivani. What's the scheme?"

"I just need to return something to a friend."

"And for that, you need a lock picker and a fall guy?"

"I'm not the fall guy," the girl protested.

"Of course not, Evy, sweetness. Ignore him."

"Never ignore the dwarf," he said. "Why else would she want someone as inexperienced as you along, except to get caught and buy her time to escape?"

"Varric, that stings. I had no idea you'd such a low opinion of me, really."

"You left me to die in Kirkwall! You ran off and left us with an entire fleet of pissed-off Qunari when you knew all you had to do was turn in the book. Do you have any idea how many people they killed?"

Her dark skin flushed, amber eyes spitting sparks. "If I'd given them the book, they'd have killed me."

"You could've given it to Hawke. She would have turned it over to the Arishok and presto, no uprising."

"Oh, that lot would have risen up, trust me on that. I know them better than you, after all."

"You're asking me to take a lot on faith, Rivani."

"Actually, I'm not asking you to take anything. We'll be putting something back."

"Even worse," Varric said, leaning back in a move that had nothing to do with feeling Evy's thigh brush along his again. "You never put anything back, as we've been discussing."

"Is that true?" Evy asked Isabela. "Is it your fault the Qunari rioted?"

"Qunari riot, darling, it's what they do."

Evy looked at Varric, arching a questioning eyebrow.

"True," he conceded. "Their warriors are basically always looking for an excuse to beat someone up."

"But you said they only did it because she kept a book."

"That's what Hawke thinks," he said. He tipped his head to Isabela. "If I were you, I'd stay out of her sight for the next few decades. She's cleared a space on her mantle for your head."

"Gruesome."

"She's not the forgive-and-forget type, y'know."

"Yes, I'd noticed, but enough of old news, Varric. Are you going to help or not?"

"Details, Rivani, details. I don't know if I'll help if I don't know what I'm helping to do."

"It's simple, won't take but a moment, really. I give you a gem, you put it back in a nobleman's cabinet, then walk right back out."

"And her?" He hooked a thumb at Evy.

"I promised her she'd learn to pick locks. You can show her."

"I know the layout," Evy said. "I'll get us past the servants and through the shortest route to his bedroom."

"Do I want to know how you know where this guy's bedroom is, Princess?"

She grinned, wrinkling a nose with just enough freckles across it. "Nope," she said.

"Uh huh." Maybe she wasn't as young as he thought. He looked back at the pirate. "Where will you be while we're in the nobleman's house, returning stolen property?"

She touched slender, beringed fingers to her ample bronzed cleavage. "I will have the truly dangerous part. I'll be distracting the house guards, keeping them occupied until you give the all-clear."

It sounded easy, but then with Isabela it always did. "There being no cut of profits to offer, what do I get out of this, exactly?"

"You, my sweet, will have your pick of anything you find in the nobleman's house."

"His wife has a fantastic necklace, all webbed diamonds and sapphires," Evy said. "And she's a collector, too, jeweled eggs."

"Hard to move," he said. "Too memorable."

She shrugged, unconcerned. "She has jewels aplenty. She won't even notice what we take."

He shook his head. "She's leaving something out," he told Evy. "Never agree to this kind of thing without details, and the less they want to offer them, the more you need them."

Isabela pouted prettily. "Fine," she said. "If you must know, you'll be returning the Scarlet Lady."

He laughed.

She wasn't kidding.

He laughed harder.

"You stole the most famous cursed gem in all of Thedas?" he asked between chuckles. "Oh Rivani, you really outsmarted yourself this time."'

"Who would have thought the curse was real?" she asked. "I was informed by my contact that they could remove any curse, besides."

"I take it they were wrong?"

"Very, and they're paying me a pretty penny to put it back."

"Who'd the curse land on?"

"Never me, thankfully. Clever little curse. You'd have known by now if it were me."

"What's it actually do?" Evy asked. "There are plenty of rumors."

"Bad luck," Isabela said. "Horrifically bad. My contact's had a run of financial disasters and one family fatality." For once, she wasn't acting lighthearted. "It's the last that convinced him to return it, and who better to turn to than the person who took it in the first place?"

"Then why do you need help returning it?"

"They tightened their security, didn't they?" she said, arching a dark brow at Evy. "I can't get it back by myself, they changed all the locks so my forged keys no longer work."

"Can't you pick the locks?" Evy asked. 

"I don't think Master Tethras would rather be distracting the guards."

"No, Master Tethras would not," he said.

"I could distract the guards," Evy offered.

Varric looked over at her, her eyes widening with excitement, lips curved upward.

"I suppose you'll have to," Isabela said to her. "That's what we'll do, then. You keep the guards busy, I'll retrace my steps and—"

"Don't bother," Varric interrupted. "You can get yourself killed if you want, but leave her out of it. I'll go, but she stays home."

"What?" Evy said, indignant. "That's not your choice to make."

"It is if she wants my help."

"You'll need her help," Isabela said. "I can't distract that many guards for as long as you'll need to find the cabinet yourself and open the container to get the ruby back into it."

Scrubbing his face with one gloved palm, Varric finally admitted to himself he was actually going to do this. If he didn't, he had no doubts that Isabela would have no problem sacrificing the Princess to save herself. Evy simply had no idea what she was getting herself into, and if he walked off, left her, he'd feel responsible for what happened to her, always knowing his presence could've changed everything.

"Fine," he said. "What's the plan?"

Isabela grinned at him. Evy leaned in to kiss his cheek. He caught a whiff of her fragrance, something powdery and warm, a scent that unknotted the muscles in his neck, somehow easing the incipient headache he had been building.

"The Castiwick family is hosting a party to welcome their eldest daughter and heir back from a stint with the Templars. She was the second child in line for the title, but the brother was has decided to step aside in order to marry some shepherd boy he met out in some backwater village."

"Anyone who's anyone in Ostwick is going," Evy said.

"And your family isn't?"

She glanced at Isabela, then shrugged. "I'm not invited," she said.

"The point is, during the festivities, the Brandridge villa will be deserted by the family. Once I distract the guards, you two sneak in. When you're out again, you'll set off a fire arrow, and I'll lose the guards, meeting you back here." 

"What if you get caught?" Evy asked.

"She'll improvise," Varric said. 

"What if we get caught?"

"We improvise better," he said with a wry grin. "When's this party?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight? What'd you plan to do if I said no?"

"Improvise," Evy said, grinning back at him.

Green. Definitely green, and full of devilish humor.

He forced himself to look away, over at Isabela.

The one-time pirate captain gave him a knowing smile, a hint of smugness in her eyes.

"Oh shut up," he muttered, getting to his feet. "I'll meet you at the fountain in front of the chantry, two hours after sunset. Don't be late."

"We'll be there," Isabela said sweetly. "Both of us."

Varric walked out of the bar, trying not to feel like he'd painted a target on his own back. He had some homework to do on the Brandridge family. And, he suspected, the Scarlet Lady.

And on a red-headed, green-eyed imp he only knew as Evy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter brought to you by Alt-J's Every Other Freckle...)

Nothing.

That's what his entire day had come to – nothing. The Scarlet Lady was, as Evy had said, a muddle of different rumors. Everyone knew who owned it, everyone thought they knew who still had it. Rumor of the theft hadn't made it to the streets.

Surprising, given Isabela's tendency to gloat, but all to the good since they meant to put it back.

About the Brandridge family, nothing important. Nothing to say why they had never been affected by the curse. Did they have a counter-curse, some object that kept the curse from landing on them? No one knew. He did find out there were no serious mages in the family. Otherwise, all anyone knew was that they were minor nobles, the wife was a wealthy daughter from a merchant family who married into a title.

About Evy, nothing. Most people didn't even know who she was, and the couple of people who did seem to know weren't willing to talk. The most he got was out of a contact of a contact through the Merchant's Guild, and he only called her "a good kid", which wasn't helpful in the least.

So here he was, heading toward the hopefully-deserted house of a minor noble with a good kid and a cursed gem.

_Bianca my love, someday explain to me how I keep getting into this crap._

"We're to listen for the signal," Evy whispered, "then go in through the garden gate. It's locked, but well-oiled, I took care of that. You handle the lock, then I'll get us into the house. The library is on the first floor, but there are stairs to a second floor, and a window from there onto the balcony that we can follow to the bedroom."

"Wouldn't it be easier just to take the stairs in the house?" he asked.

"Not if you want to avoid servants," she said. "They'll take advantage of the absence to clean areas they don't normally get to, like the hall carpets."

"I bow to your superior knowledge of servants," he said. "Where's the gem?"

"I have it."

He grabbed her arm as he saw it move. "Don't pat it. Don't do anything to show where you put it. The last thing we need is that thing getting picked."

"Believe me," she said dryly, "I'd notice."

"Cleavage, huh?"

"Seemed safe."

"Depends on the thief, but I'll keep an eye out."

"On my cleavage? Why Varric, I'm flattered."

It was worth looking at, even if she didn't have a priceless gem tucked somewhere in there. But he didn't mention that, instead settling for, "All part of the protection plan, Princess. Got a reason ready for why we're hanging out near the garden entrance?"

"I thought we'd just not be seen."

"Rule number one: Always act as though someone is watching. So, why are we hanging out near the garden gate?"

"The vines are flowering," she suggested. "Maybe we're picking flowers. It's not technically illegal, but it is frowned upon."

Not a bad plan, actually. "That works for you, but why am I there?"

She widened her eyes and feigned innocence. "Maybe you're picking them for me."

"Is anyone you know going to see you there? Remember, rule number one."

"Hm." Her full lips pursed in thought. "Possibly," she admitted. "Everyone should be at the party, but there's a chance."

"Are you prepared to deal with the gossip?"

That made her chuckle. It was a good sound, soft and rich. Like her. "Oh, believe me, anyone who knows me will not be shocked by me doing something scandalous."

They approached the house – manor, more appropriately – and Varric caught a glimpse of Isabela waiting in a dark doorway nearby.

"Did you see her?" Evy murmured.

"Yep. Keep going."

Varric set the pace, a leisurely stroll around the walls. He saw quickly what she meant about the vines. Night-blooming flowers had taken over from their diurnal neighbors and scented the street with something sweet and soft.

"Ah, that's it," he said.

"No, the gate's up ahead."

"I meant the flowers. That's your perfume."

"You noticed," she said, sounding pleased.

Shit. He probably shouldn't have said anything. He took a few steps closer to the gate, then stopped and picked one of the flowers, handing it to her with a slight bow.

Evy took it and sniffed it, smiling at him.

He gestured her close, and she bent a little. He was a little taller than shoulder-high on her, so she didn't have to bend far to let him tuck the flower into her hair, its silver-white petals shining against the darker red. "Do you know what the signal is?" he murmured.

"No," Evy said, "just that Isa said we'd know it when we heard it."

Then she kissed him.

It was perfectly logical. Perfectly in line with the parts they were playing. Her mouth was as soft as it looked, tasted as sweet. Her kiss was tentative, uncertain, and he wondered briefly if she'd ever been kissed before. His hand captured the back of her neck, pulled her in closer. He had to taste her, and used his tongue to part her lips and stroke her mouth.

Faintly, he heard guards yelling and feet pounding away. 

He broke the kiss and leaned back, struggling for normalcy in his tone. "That's probably our signal."

Evy's face was shocked, flushed, her lips a little more plump than they had been.

Resolutely, he turned away and found the garden gate, making short work of the lever lock. As she had promised, it swung open silently. "C'mon," he said, gesturing to her.

She hurried to catch up, then took over the lead.

All attention was on the front door. Through lighted windows, he could see even the servants clustered around the windows to the front, but that wouldn't last.

Evy seemed to realize it, leading him quickly to the library window and gesturing him forward.

It, too, was locked, but only an interior one. A quick lift with his slimmest pick clicked the lock open and he swung the window in.

Evy hopped lithely over the sill, landing in near perfect silence on the wooden floor inside. She walked quickly to the spiraling staircase to the second floor of the library and ascended quietly. 

Varric had to give her marks. She might look like she just stepped out of her father's house for the first time, but she could move like a natural-born thief. It made him wonder about what else she knew. Was he being played by a pair of big green eyes and a set of soft curves? Wouldn't be the first time.

But he followed her to the second floor and to the next set of windows. There he saw that what she considered a balcony stopped well short of the closest windows. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down. "Are we just supposed to walk over there?"

"There's a ledge," she whispered back. "If your shoulders are too broad, just turn sideways. Back to the wall."

"I know how to walk a ledge, Princess," he said. "Just wanted to make sure you did."

"Blindfolded and backward," she assured him, with another of those puckish grins.

Shit. He had been played.

Sure enough, she stepped out onto the narrow stone ledge surrounding the garden like it was the hallway to her own bedroom, sure and swift. He followed, almost deciding not to turn his back to the wall, but his shoulders really were too broad and the ledge too narrow.

No servants were in evidence as she led him across the nearest balcony. "Their son's room," she said. "There's nothing interesting in there. Well, not since he's at the party anyway." 

This time he just saw a flash of her white teeth. She was having too much fun with this.

Across another ledge, a set of empty rooms, a slight pause for entering and exiting servants, then on to the far end of the garden and a wider balcony, a set of double doors leading inside. The fire was banked, but gave enough light to see the room was unoccupied. Opening the lock took Varric mere moments, and they were inside.

"Take a look around," Evy urged him. "You should get paid for this."

"Do the job first," he said, "then get paid. Where's the cabinet?"

Voices rose downstairs, a clatter of footsteps. Laughter and drunken voices, echoing steps up a set of stairs.

"Shit," Varric said, looking around. He yanked her into a small side chamber, an open closet filled with chests. Opening the largest of them, he saw piles of winter blankets and yanked out most of them, shoving them into a chest nearby. "In," he said, just as the door to the bedchamber opened.

She didn't have time to argue, not with the laughter in the room just beyond them. She crawled into the chest, even though she did have to curl her legs to do it.

Varric stepped in with her, then lowered the lid carefully as the fire flared in the room beyond.

"We should've gone back out the window," she hissed.

"They'd have seen us on the balcony," he whispered. "Shh."

The voices were too muffled to make out clearly, but one man and one woman could be heard.

"Hah," Evy whispered. "That's not the Lady Brandridge. They'll not be long, then. He'll have his mistress gone before she comes home with Corin."

"Corin?"

She hummed agreement. "Son. The Brandridges hate each other," she said. "They had one son and then have spent as little time in each others' company as possible." She shifted under him, rearranging her body in the cramped space.

"Stop wriggling," he whispered. She was driving him nuts with that motion. He'd have moved away if he could, but with Bianca on his back, there was barely room as it was. "And move your left leg."

She sighed and squirmed some more, but there were only so many ways a man and a woman could fit together in a chest. Few of them didn't evoke something much more dangerous than just leaping out and confronting all the guards in the house.

"Better?"

"No. Your legs are ridiculously long. Who needs legs that long?"

"Like your chest isn't as wide as the one we're hiding in!"

"Don't talk about my chest."

"Well don't talk about my legs."

His turn to sigh, his mouth near her ear. He felt her shiver under him and abruptly needed something, anything else to think about.

"Maybe we can slip out, put the gem back, then get out before they notice. Where's the cabinet?"

"In the headboard," Evy said. "So unless you're really good, probably not."

The noises from the bedroom were not helping. Elder Brandridge hadn't wasted time with preliminaries. Varric doubted they'd had time to take their clothes off. And the noises from his mistress…

"He must be paying her a lot of money," he muttered.

Evy's snort of laughter was loud in the confined space.

"Shh!"

Her body hitched and spasmed as she clamped her lips shut on her laughter.

He could've slapped a hand over her mouth, but his hands were busy keeping himself over her body so he wasn't lying on her, by that scant inch. It wasn't helping anyway.

 _Blight it,_ he decided, and kissed her again.

Her hands slid across the back of his head, holding him in the kiss, refusing to release him even had he any desire to stop kissing her. Now he let his arms relax, lowered his body to hers. He could feel her heartbeat, the soft give of her breasts against his chest, the harder lump of the Scarlet Lady. Her hips rose fractionally, enough to stroke the bulge of his cock through his pants.

His groan was muffled in her mouth, in the kiss that burned all thought of caution out of his head. Their position prevented him from taking out every suppressed, searing desire out on her. He couldn't reach those breasts, couldn't stroke between her legs to feel her heat. All he could do was kiss her, kiss her deep and hard, showing her with lips and tongue what he wanted to do with his hands, with the hardness she shifted her hips against.

Slimmer than he, with more room to maneuver, she shimmied and wriggled. He felt her fingers skim his waist and hers, felt her grip shift to her waistband.

That pierced the heat in his head. Softly as possible he said, "Princess, no…"

She nipped his earlobe, tangled her tongue around the gold hoop in his ear. "Varric, yes," she whispered.

Maker. "There's not enough room," he groaned.

After another kiss, another long, sweet taste of her mouth, her tongue, he felt her hands shift again, this time between them. Her fingers were down, against her mound, but when she felt the hard ridge of his cock, she paused to stroke it with the backs of her palms, slow up and down strokes that threatened his sanity.

"Ah shit," he sighed. "Stop, Evy."

"Not yet," she whispered.

He could feel that she was busy doing something, but it didn't feel like she was teasing herself. Her hands were active, all ten fingers. He didn't worry too much about what she was doing. The movement itself was driving him to abandon all caution. He moved his hips, subtly at first, then faster and harder against her hands. His kisses matched the thrusts, slow penetration of her lips, slow withdrawals.

Fabric ripped. Her frantic fingers slid across his cock again, found the fastenings. The heat of her hands on his bare cock drew a strangled growl out of him, and his muscles clenched from neck to toes. When she shifted her hips, struggled to find another spare inch of space, his cock slipped between them.

Heat. Flesh. Slick wetness.

She had torn the crotch of her pants.

He couldn't move, didn't dare move. His breath came in short, hard gasps as he tried to think about anything, literally anything else.

She didn't understand his hesitation. "Please Varric, please," her hot breath teased across his ear. "I need you."

Slowly he shifted, the tip of his cock gliding down through the nest of crinkly curls, nudging through swollen lips that embraced him. She slid down as he slid up, helping him penetrate her, careful, slow.

"Quiet, Princess," he whispered, eyes closed. "Maker, please, stay quiet."

She whimpered, and he felt her biting her lip as he stroked slow and steady, deeper into her. His hands dug into the fabric near her hips. Her thighs bumped the back of his arms.

She would be limber enough. He had seen her move. Roughly, he shoved his hand up and back, scooping under her thigh. Pressing that knee up to her ear, her leg curled tight, he repeated the procedure on her other leg. 

Now, finally with one final thrust, he seated himself fully inside her. He kissed her again, hot and fast, before he could cry out, before she could. There wasn't room to slam into her the way he wanted, to pound into her until he came so hard she would scream his name. Instead, the close quarters, the nearness of Brandridge in the other room, forced him to go slow, easy, long and steady.

He felt it when she broke. She clenched around him, stroking him in ripples of her muscles. She caught her breath, tore her mouth away to drag in a breath she fought not to let back out as a cry. Instead, she released it in a shaky, trembling exhalation, muffled from her teeth biting her own lips again.

It was too much. Varric couldn't stop himself. His hips moved quick and sharp, short thrusts of his cock in her, against the tautness of her. In seconds, he came in her, froze still deep in her, his head bumping on the underside of the chest lid as his back arched.

Then he collapsed against her, breathing heavily, reveling in the heat of her matching panting breaths against his face. He kissed her, tasted blood, knew she had broken the skin of her soft lips. He brushed his mouth over hers again, more carefully, a soft apology.

From outside their nest, they heard shouting, a woman's voice raised in outrage, a man's deeper anger answering hers.

"They're downstairs," Evy whispered.

"Shit. We have to go now."

"What about the gem?" she asked as he shoved the lid of the trunk back, tucking himself back into his pants before tugging her out of the chest.

"No time," he said. "They'll bring their fight up here before too long. Move!"

He shoved her toward the window and out, sparing only a glance at the rumpled, empty bed. 

"Lucky bastard," he muttered before following Evy onto the balcony and out into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

They met up with Isabela back at the Broken Anchor, at the same table on the second floor.

"Well?" asked the pirate, absently scratching at a healing cut on her arm.

"One of them nicked you," Varric said. "Must've been a higher caliber of guard."

"Arrow," she said, indignant. "Very unsporting. The gem?"

Evy reached for her shirt.

"Don't bother, Princess." Varric thunked the velvet bag with the stone inside on the table.

Isabela's eyes narrowed. "You must be kidding me. What happened?"

"Bad luck," Varric said. "Very bad luck. Something you want to tell us, Rivani?"

"Do I want to know how you got that?" Evy asked.

Varric arched an eyebrow at her.

"Oh." Even in the dim light, it was possible to see her fair skin turning pink.

"What's this?" Isabela asked, looking from one to the other.

"My question first," he said. "Very bad luck, Isabela. Any worse and we'd have been caught."

"It wasn't all bad," Evy murmured.

He kicked her under the table.

"You said the curse never landed on you," he continued. "Clever little curse, you said."

"Maybe it was just ordinary bad luck! Did you consider that?"

"I did, yes, but it's extraordinarily bad luck when someone decides to sneak off back home with his mistress and have sex in his own bed instead of somewhere closer. Or somewhere he's less likely to get caught by his wife."

"Oh dear," Isa said mildly.

"Isabela…"

"All right, all right, I suppose I did have a few minor moments that went a bit poorly. I thought you wouldn't be carrying it long enough to affect you! Apparently it gets worse the longer you have it."

"Apparently?" Evy asked.

"Well it's not as if there's a book on it, is there, sweetness? Anyway, the point is you didn't manage to return it and now we have to try again."

Varric flicked the bag toward Isabela. "You hold on to it," he said.

"Me?"

"You stole it. You keep it."

"I've had it longer than you!"

"Maybe it's only consecutive time. So the clock restarts when you take it back."

"Suppose it's not?"

Varric stood, hands on the table, leaning across the table. "I don't care," he said, each word distinct.

Isabela huffed a sigh. "Fine," she said, standing as well. "Let's all get some sleep. We'll regroup in the morning."

Isabela waited for Evy.

Who was staring at Varric.

Who stared right back at her, then turned to go upstairs. He hoped she wouldn't follow. He really hoped she would. Andraste's ass cheeks, he was too old for this shit.

Behind him, he heard Evy's soft, cultured accent. "See you in the morning, Isa," followed by Isabela's non-committal hum.

But Isabela's opinion in this just didn't matter. She'd baited her trap, she couldn't complain now that he'd fallen into it.

Repeatedly.

Evy's steps, light and quick, caught up to him as he turned down the hall to his door. The lock took some fiddling, since he'd jammed it himself, and he reached it carefully to disarm the trap he'd set. The Anchor was just that kind of place.

When he pushed the door open, Evy walked in and sat on the bed, folding those long legs under her. "So," she said.

He didn't look at her as he unslung Bianca from his back and set her carefully against the wall, giving her an unconscious pat. "So," he replied.

"I'm not entirely certain of the protocol, here," she said. "Do we talk about it?"

"Don't look at me, Princess," he said, stripping off his gloves. "That's the first time I've ever had sex in a chest while hiding from the owner of a cursed gem I was trying to return."

"Me too," she said. He could see her soft smile from the corner of his eye.

He sat next to her. "Okay," he said. "Talk."

She fiddled with her own fingertips for a moment, looked away from him and down at them.

Finally he took pity on her. "Evy. Listen, it… it was what it was. It was good—"

"Really good."

He grinned. "Yeah, really good."

Now she looked up. "Amazingly, shatteringly good."

"Stop, you're making me blush. Just listen, all right?"

This time, he waited for her to nod.

"But it needs to stay there. It was a moment that came from another moment. That's all it was, and all it can be."

She laughed a little, but there was none of her usual and delightful wickedness behind it. It was a sad laugh, a little resigned. "Oh, I know where this will end eventually," she said. "I'll go home. You'll go back to wherever you came from. I'll just have memories."

He slid his hand under hers. Her fingers, so nimble and deft, felt fragile in his. He felt clumsy, rough. He lifted her hand anyway, kissing her fingertips. "We both will," he said.

"I'm not asking about forever, Varric. I'm not even asking about three months from now."

He knew what she was asking about. What he hoped she was asking about. What she really shouldn't be asking about.

"I'm asking about tonight."

Well, shit. She asked.

He let go of her fingertips to slide his hand over his hair. "Evy…"

She kissed him.

He didn't have the heart – or the ability – to push her away. That kiss went right to his crotch, her lips, her soft scent, the gradual press of her body against his as she slid a knee over his lap, straddled him, cupped those fingers around his neck.

"I want tonight," she whispered. "I want to know that this, that you and I, are more than a moment. I deserve it. You deserve it."

He slid his left hand up her back, between her shoulder blades, and shifted, rolling her beneath him and down to the bed. Her thighs slid over him, wrapped around him, keeping him close against her. He brushed a hand across loose strands of ember-light hair that had tangled in her eyelashes. "Princess, you really shouldn't be here," he murmured.

"Where else should I be?"

"Home. In bed. Safe."

"Is it so dangerous, here with you?"

"More than you think."

She kissed him again, or maybe he kissed her. He wasn't ever sure. All he would remember later was clothes that seemed to vanish, silken skin hot under his hands, soft curves arching into his every touch. He remembered sliding into her like finally being home, remembered shaking muscles as he held himself deep inside her. He remembered her cries and whimpers, sweet sounds of pleasure like bardic song. He remembered orgasm, long and deep and perfect, an explosion of euphoria that rippled through his entire body, leaving him flushed and sweating, collapsed on the bed beside her.

Evy curled up against him, tucked her head under his arm and onto his chest. Her hand sleepily slid through his chest hair. It tickled a little, but he was too pleasantly exhausted to bring it up.

Varric kissed the top of her head, strands of her red hair tangling in the scruff of red on his cheeks. "Tell me something."

"Anything," she murmured sleepily.

"What's your real name?"

"Evelyn," she said. He felt her cheeks tighten as she smiled.

"That's much nicer than Evy."

"You usually call me Princess anyway."

"You mind? I could always come up with a new nickname for you."

She chuckled and looked up at him, delicate chin resting on the broad planes of his chest. "Dare I ask like what?"

"Oh I dunno," he said, smiling down at the picture she made. "Guttersnipe, maybe."

That got a laugh out of her. "Guttersnipe? I am not!"

He cupped his hand around the back of her head, tugging a little. Obediently, she slid forward to kiss him, slow and leisurely.

"You really shouldn't be here," he sighed.

"No, probably not," she said, sitting up to get the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, then pulling it over both of them and lying next to him, her head on the pillow. "If you ask my father, I should be in the Chantry."

"Chantry, huh?"

"Mm hmm. Or the Templars, but th— One of his friends says I'd be dead meat in a Templar suit and using a sword."

"Too light," he agreed. "You should learn Isabela's style, much as I hate to encourage you to spend any more time in her company."

"I am, or something like it," she said. "But I'm not supposed to carry daggers until I can use them well enough in a fight to survive. Korin says wearing weapons you can't use is worse than no weapons at all."

He battened down a surge of jealousy he had no right to feel. "It's a good point. People see a weapon, they think you know how to use it and come at you accordingly."

"Like you and Bianca."

Andraste's chin hairs, that accent. "Sorry, me and what?"

She lifted her head a little. "Bianca."

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest.

"What?"

"It's just the way you say it."

"What, Bianca?"

"Yeah, that."

Smiling at his broad grin, she sat up more, propped herself up, elbow and arm. "What's wrong with the way I say her name?"

He reached up to tangle a hand in the fall of her hair. "Nothing. You say it with an 'r' on the end. 'Bianker'."

"I do not," she laughed. "Bianca." 

"See? It's that Ostwickian accent."

"Ostwicker," she corrected.

"Ostwickovite."

"You're mad," she declared, settling back down beside him. "Why do you call her Bianca, anyway?"

He lost some of his smile. "I pulled her out of a giant's horde, from underneath the biggest stuffed nug you ever saw. It had 'Bianca' on its jeweled collar."

"Isabela says you named her after a woman."

Damned Rivani pirate. "Isabela says a lot of things."

"It's a much more romantic story than a dead giant and a stuffed nug," she said. "Isa says Bianca's the name of a woman you loved and lost."

"Well, she's wrong." 

"Will you name something after me one day? A lock pick, maybe?"

"Picks are fragile. They break."

"Your necklace, then," she said, sliding a finger along the gold links.

"You want a chain to be named after you?"

"No, I suppose not. But Bianca gets a whole crossbow, that's all I'm saying."

There had to be a way to get her off the topic. He was getting more than a little uncomfortable, discussing Bianca while in bed with Evy. Evelyn, he corrected himself. It suited her better. "Who's this Korin person? Someone I should be worried about? I'm not going to get ambushed by any angry young suitor, am I?"

She laughed. "Korin's old! He's probably forty or so."

"Maker, you're killing me, Evelyn. Who is he?"

She hesitated a moment. "Someone who's teaching me," she said. "To use daggers instead of a sword."

"A weaponsmaster." Just how rich was her family?

"Yes. He says he likes teaching me. He's tired of teaching all my brothers how to bash things with swords."

"Ah, the Templars."

"It's what we all do, sooner or later," she said, trying for lightness and failing. He could hear the resignation in her tone. "Templars or Chantry. Or marriage. That's Ostwick for you."

"What about you? If not the Templars or the Chantry or a husband, what do you want?"

"I want…" She sighed. "I want to _go_ and _see_ and _do_ ," she said, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling.

"See what? Do what?"

"I wish I knew." She turned her head to look at him. "Varric, did you ever feel like… Like your life was meant to be more than it is? Like everything is a test, and if you can just do the right thing at the right time, something spectacular is waiting for you?"

"I think everyone has at some point or another."

"I've felt that way every day of my life. I sometimes think I've spent my life searching for that one moment, that one… _thing_ that will make it all mean something. Or doing insane things to try and prepare for it." 

She sighed, looking blankly past him at the door. "But maybe there is nothing," she said, softer, sadder. "I'll end up a Chantry sister or someone's carefully considered and brokered wife, and never leave Ostwick. I worry sometimes that my life will be spent staring out of windows, watching other people live."

Varric watched her, saw all the joy and passion drain away leaving her eyes empty and bleak. He lifted one hand to stroke a thumb across her cheekbone. "Maybe not," he said. "Maybe that something will come along."

"Maybe," she agreed. He could read the disagreement in her eyes, though. "But I think not. I think maybe I should just resign myself. It's fun to pretend, when I'm with you and Isa and other people I know, but it's only pretend. You always wake up from dreams, you know."

"Hey," he said softly. "I’m the writer here. That was a little too poetic."

She just smiled, a half-quirk of her lips. There was a hint there of the woman she'd grow into. Something private and quiet, passion banked and cooled.

He couldn't bear it.

Varric slid out of bed and stood, holding out a hand to her. When she took it, he tugged her to her feet and led her to the end of the bed and turned her to face the chest. "Have a seat," he said.

Confused but obedient, she sat cross-legged in front of the chest.

Varric bent and reached into his jacket, discarded on the floor, and pulled out his lock picks.

"The first step to picking a lock," he said, "is knowing what kind of lock you have. Most of the small locks are tumbler locks, like this one."

He held up a torsion wrench from his tools and looked down at her.

After a moment, her fingers closed over the metal.

"You ready to try this?" he asked.

"I'm ready." She smiled up at him, soft and slow, green eyes sparkling in the lantern light.

_Varric Tethras, you are a very, very bad man,_ he thought, sliding a pick free. 

But sometimes, the bad thing was just the right thing to do.


	4. Chapter 4

He woke with her legs tangled around him. They really were ridiculously long. But soft as… not silk. Soft as fallen snow looked, soft as the scent of honeysuckle in a late summer evening. He slid a hand down her arm, savoring the same creamy white skin against his palm.

She yawned, shifted and stretched, then contracted back into a ball so she could rest her head on his chest. "G'morning," she murmured, kissing his skin.

"I have to ask you something."

"Hmm?"

"How old are you?"

She started laughing, sleepy still. "What?"

"I just have to know. I mean, I know you're not really a kid or anything but—" 

Evelyn propped herself up, shaking her hair out of her face. "My poor Varric," she said, grinning at him. Slender fingers reached to brush across his forehead. His own hair had come free from the short tail he wore it in and fallen into his eyes. "All this time, and you thought I might be too young for this sort of adventure?"

"It's a thought."

"Twenty," she said, still amused. "I'm twenty."

"Thank the Maker."

That made her laugh again. "You mean you thought I might be younger than that and you still slept with me? Twice? Varric, you scandalous man."

"Twenty's enough of a scandal, Princess," he said, pulling her down to him.

"Mm hmm." She kissed him lightly. "You'll note I don't ask how old you are. Plainly I was raised with better manners."

His turn to laugh. "If you had only known my family…"

"Oh, no. Let's not start talking about families. I need a new pair of pants and I don't dare show my face at home, not unless I want to spend the next week there, locked inside."

"Ah, the real reason you wanted to learn to pick locks."

She kissed him again. "Caught me. Now what do you plan to do to me?"

He slapped her bare rump lightly. "Make you get up and get breakfast. If I know Isabela, she'll be waiting impatiently downstairs. We make her wait too long, she'll come upstairs."

"Door's locked."

"She can pick them."

That made her sit up, indignant. "She told me she couldn't teach me."

He chuckled. "Princess, you have a lot to learn. Rule number two: Never trust a pirate."

"Mm hmm. If I remember rule number one correctly, then last night becomes a lot more salacious. And I still need pants."

"I don't think mine will fit you."

"And it's not like Isa wears any."

"If you're not too picky, I can get you some."

She wrinkled her nose, freckles and all. "Just make sure they're clean."

By the time he was back with a pair of human-sized pants from a nearby room (clean was asking a bit much in the Broken Anchor), she was up and had re-braided her hair. More's the pity. He had been right about it being long, and it had been fittingly silky.

Her shirt was long enough to cover most of her, but the bottom curve of her buttocks peeked out from under the hem. Suddenly, Varric found he didn't really care if Isabela was downstairs or not. He just stood there, staring at the demi-circles of pale flesh until she turned and took the pants from him.

She slid into them. "Bit large, but better than running around crotchless."

"Uh. Right." He rummaged in the chest and handed her one of his belts. That, too, was too large, but it was made to slip through a metal circle and tie, not buckle, so though the tail of the belt was long, it held up the pants.

Suitably attired, they went out into the hallway and found Isa at one of the downstairs tables, watching the stairs.

"I have an idea," she proclaimed.

"Rule number two," muttered Varric.

"Lady Brandridge is visiting her couturier today. We slip up behind her party and put the gem in Her Ladyship's purse."

"One, how do we know who's carrying the purse," Varric said. "Two, we'll need one hell of a distraction. Three, how do we know the servant carrying the purse will return the gem?"

"Four, this is Ostwick. We have dressmakers, not couturiers," added Evelyn.

"One, she carries it herself. Two, darling the three of us are a hell of a distraction. Three, see number one. And four, she's Orlesian, she's a couturier." 

"How many people go shopping with her?"

Isa looked at Evelyn.

She shrugged. "No more than two servants and two guards. Anything more is tacky."

"All right, it's not a great plan, but it's a plan," said Varric. "You put the gem back," he told Isa.

"I've been holding this thing all night," she said. "My room caught fire, I fell onto a city guard while jumping out of the window, then landed in a puddle of… I don't even want to talk about what was in that puddle. If I try to put this thing back, gods know what will happen. You put it back."

"You hold on to it until we get there," he countered.

"But—!"

"I'll hold it," Evelyn interrupted, holding out her hand. "When we get there, I'll pass it to Varric, he can put it back while Isa and I run the distraction."

"Done!" Isa said, handing over the gem. Her shirt sleeve caught on a splinter and tore. She sighed.

Evelyn smiled and tucked it away in her shirt, underneath her corset.

_Later…_

"Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow."

"Almost there, Princess. A few more steps."

"Did Isa make it back?"

Varric looked around the bar as he supported Evelyn to a seat. Drunks, check. Drunks playing darts, check. Drunks flirting with the barmaid, check. "I don't see her."

"I just hope she got away from that Mabari."

"She'd have killed it."

Evelyn looked shocked. "Really? That poor puppy!"

He snorted. "That puppy is a ninety pound ball of muscle and teeth. You must not have been to Ferelden much. Those are war hounds, not lap dogs. They kill people, Princess."

"He liked me."

"You weren't holding the gem."

"Good point."

He eased her into a chair, then sat next to her. "No wonder no one's stolen the damn thing in years," he said. "I'm starting to think they keep it locked up for everyone else's safety."

Carefully, she put her foot up on an empty chair and sighed. "At least it isn't broken," she said, eying her swollen ankle. "I don't think."

"I have something for that in my room," Varric said.

"I'll bet you do, but I don't think either of us is up to it."

He grinned. "Not that, Princess, but thank you for implying that sex with me is a cure-all."

"How's your hand?"

"I think I got all the spines out."

"I know it gives people bad luck, but how bad does our luck have to be that someone was selling quillback leather? Who tans quillback hides with the spines still on them?"

"I'm just glad I managed to twist at the last second or I'd have a harder time sitting than you have walking." He got to his feet. "I'll go get the elfroot from my room. Stay here in case Isabela shows up."

She nodded, then ordered three ales. Probably a good idea, Varric thought. Isabela would probably want something stronger, assuming she got away. If she did, she could order it herself. If she didn't, Evelyn would need the second drink.

But evidently Isabela did get away. As Varric exited his room, red potions in hand, Isabela trotted down from the top floor and walked over to the table. "Rooftops," she explained to Evelyn. "Guards can never quite get up there."

Evelyn nudged one mug toward her. "Or Mabari?"

Isa drank deeply, then sighed. "Or them, thankfully. Since when has anyone in Ostwick owned a Mabari?"

"Since you stole a bad luck gem and we agreed to help you return it."

"Ah. Too true. Speaking of which…"

"The gem?"

"No, the 'we'."

Varric stopped at the bannister.

Puzzled, Evelyn cocked her head. "What about us?"

"Are you sure you're thinking clearly about getting involved with him?"

"You know, he says almost the same thing about you."

"Not that sort of involved, my lily-white little ingénue. I mean you seem to be growing quite attached."

Evelyn didn't deny it, not immediately. "He's different," she said. "He's not pampered and stuffy, but he's not grimy and uneducated, either. He's… clever."

"Yes, he is," Isabela agreed. "Clever, protective, charming, and as effortless a liar as has been my pleasure to see, even in my line of work."

"He hasn't lied to me. Not about anything real."

"Sweetness, that's how you can be certain he's lied. I told you, his heart's already taken."

"You don't even know if Bianca's actually a person."

"I've never met her, but trust me, Evelyn, she's a person. And he's still carrying a torch for her in one hand, that crossbow in the other. He doesn't have anything free for you."

He walked down the stairs and handed Evelyn her potion before tossing one down himself, with an ale chaser. He didn't say anything to let them know he'd overheard. From the flush to Evelyn's cheeks, he didn't have to.

Isabela, of course, looked as unperturbed as ever.

"So, failure number two. Anyone have another idea?"

"Yes," Evelyn said. "How about we just chuck it in a window?"

Varric and Isabela exchanged glances. "Nothing said you had to return it directly to them, right?"

"Technically, I was hired to put it back. But I doubt there will be any quibbling as long as it's back in the hands of its rightful owners."

"That's our new plan, then," Varric said. "Now, who has the gem?"

A dart bounced off the metal ring, tumbled, and struck the barmaid in the arm. She shrieked and threw her hands up, along with six mugs. The contents, all of them, splashed directly on Evelyn's head.

"Ah," said Varric, wiping at the few drops that had hit his shirt.

_Even later…_

"I saidh tob boging ad id."

"It's no good repeating yourself, Varric, we can't understand a word you're saying. Hold still." Evelyn dabbed at the bridge of his nose with a cloth and winced. "I don't suppose you have any more potions up here?"

"Doh."

"He said no," Isabela said, helpfully.

"Yes, I rather thought he did," was Evelyn's dry reply. She sat back on her heels with a sigh at Varric. "I'm sorry, I think that's going to leave a scar."

"It's his own fault," Isabela said, leaning against the door frame. "He's the one who bragged about his aim."

Varric bristled. "I do haf gud aib. Id's dat sdubid geb."

"It's not his aim, Isabela. For the Maker's sake, it bounced three times before that crow grabbed it."

"I thought we were off the hook until he dropped it."

"Even that wouldn't have been so bad if that guardsman hadn't accidentally swatted it. It must've been flying faster than an arrow when it hit."

"Dang you very buch for duh regab," Varric said, wiping at his nose with Evelyn's cloth. Bracing himself, he blew it vigorously, inhaled sharply, then blew again, coughed, and spat into the cloth.

"Sexy," remarked Isabela.

"It worgs. Works," he said, clearing his throat.

"Attempt four?" Isabela suggested. "How about we hire some urchins to deliver it?"

"No!" Evelyn and Varric said together.

"What if the curse lands on the child?" Evelyn asked, frowning at Isabela.

"For the two minutes it would take to hand it off?"

"We're not risking it," Evelyn said firmly, rising to her feet. "We still have time to think of something else."

Downstairs, the sound of shouts and steel.

"Guards," Varric said, leaping to his feet and shoving the window open. "Out. Go, go. If we get separated, meet at Rivani's ship."

Isa, predictably, was first out the window and down the one-story drop. Varric shoved Evelyn to the window, watched her jump before he swung himself out and let himself fall into the bushes below. He rolled to his feet and spun to look for the others…

…and found a sword tip pointed right between his eyes.

A quick glance around showed Isabela and Evelyn both with him in a circle of six city guards. With them were one guard wearing the crest of the Brandridge family he'd seen far too much of lately, and a small contingent of others, these wearing a blue tabard stitched with a noble house's device that niggled at his memory.

Well, shit.

Glancing at the pirate, he nodded ever so slightly and noted her return nod.

"You are under arrest for thievery, unlawful entry into the house of—"

"Rivani, now!" He yanked Bianca off his back and aimed at the closest guard.

"Varric, no!" Evelyn slapped a hand on Bianca, knocking the front of the crossbow down, then held a hand out to Isabela as she drew her twin daggers and knocked a sword out of her face. "Isa, no. It's all right, I promise."

"Are you nuts?" Varric asked, as the circle tightened. "Do you know what they do to thieves in Ostwick?"

She looked up and past him, to the guards behind him. Her expression turned cool, distant, regal as the princess he had named her. "Nothing," she said. "He's going to let you go."

"I can't, my lady," the guard captain said. "You know the law."

My lady? Varric's head snapped from the captain to Evelyn to Isabela, the latter looking grim. At least, until she realized he was looking at her and promptly resumed her pose of studied insouciance.

Evelyn took the gem from a pouch at Isabela's side and tossed it to the guard in the Brandridge crest. "There. Take it. We've only been hired to return it anyway."

The Brandridge man shrugged. "Probable," he said to the guard captain. "My lord bade me tell you that if they returned it, he'd bear no ill will. He said they've likely suffered enough."

"The crime for thievery on such a scale is death. That cannot be simply excused! These two at least—"

"If you execute them," Evelyn interrupted, "you'll have to execute me, too. I'll make well-known my part in this, I swear it, and no one will be able to keep me from the headsman's axe."

The captain looked pained and harried. The guards with him looked… well, anywhere but at the captain or the girl facing him down. "My lady, I can't just ignore this."

"You can, and you will. The woman has a ship in the harbor. Escort them to it. They'll leave Ostwick quietly, I promise it."

"We will?" Isabela asked.

"Quiet, Rivani," Varric muttered, watching the standoff. 

The captain clenched his jaw tight, tighter. Varric winced on his behalf. The man would be shitting teeth for a week if he kept that up. He ripped his helm off and shoved it under one arm, glaring at Varric first, then at Isabela. "You leave," he said, "and never come back to this fu—" He glanced at Evelyn, grit his teeth some more, then continued, "never come back to this city as long as I draw breath, and I will let you go."

"They promise," Evelyn said quickly. She looked at Isabela. "Promise."

"I doubt he'd believe me," Isabela said.

"Isa, please. Promise."

She sighed. "Oh fine. I think I've done just about everything there is to do in this backwater anyway. The world is a great deal larger than Ostwick, you know."

Varric wondered if Evelyn heard the invitation.

He should have known she would. "I know," Evelyn said softly. "And thank you." Then she looked at him. 

Her eyes, green like summer leaves, gold like hints of sunlight, were sad and dark, even while she tried to smile for him, tried to shrug it away. "I told you how it would end. I always knew," she said. "It might as well end here as anywhere."

"Evelyn… Just let me— We could—"

"Don't," she said, shaking her head a little. "It's all right. I told you, I always knew."

He reached up, wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. Silk strands of her hair slid around his fingers, a sleek embrace that welcomed his touch. Ignoring the guards, ignoring their captain, he pulled her to him and kissed her.

If there was a tinge of desperation to her return kiss, if he heard her breath catch, he didn't mention it.

"Lady Evelyn…" This from the older guard in the blue tabard.

With one last brush of her mouth, she separated from him, whispering low and soft and for him alone, "I love you."

She stepped back towards the guards in blue. "You don't have to name anything for me," she said. "But maybe someday you could tell people you knew me once."

They led her away, polite and careful but firm. She didn't protest, didn't struggle, just walked in the center of the tiny phalanx. When they reached the corner, then she glanced back at him. For an instant, he could see it in her eyes; the unhappiness, the longing, a kind of sad acceptance. Then she flashed him a smile, a wink, and she was gone.

Isabela, for once, had nothing snappy to say. She set a hand on his shoulder, wordless comfort.

"Those weren't city guards," he said, as the actual city guards behind them poked him and Isa both in the backs, prodding them toward the docks.

"No, they weren't."

"They were personal guardsmen."

"Yes, they were."

"And that was the crest of the Trevelyan family."

"Yes, it was."

He looked up at her and frowned. "Rivani… Who the hell was she?"

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you now. Varric my friend, you have been carrying on a completely scandalous and borderline criminal affair with the pampered, headstrong, much beloved—"

_"—Evelyn Trevelyan, youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick."_

_They stood in the shattered corpse of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Fires still burned, even this long after the explosion. This close to the center of the temple, most of the bodies were crisped leather stretched over brittle bones, mouths agape in screams that made no sound but echoed all around them. Here and there, whether by mercy or cruelty of a different kind, some bodies remained largely intact._

_The woman they stood next to had found dubious shelter against what remained of a wall, a low rise of broken stone the only clue as to what had been here before. A corner, maybe? Some alcove protected from the worst of the blast but shattered nonetheless? Impossible to know, now. What he did know is that she was still there, would always be there, sprawled by the stone with ashes in her hair._

_It offended him, somehow, that more than anything else. He crouched down and pushed her hair back out of her blind eyes, shaking free the coating of grey ash to reveal the fiery red underneath, banked embers brought back to life at his touch._

_"We must move on," Cassandra said firmly. "We may yet be in time to end this."_

_"Varric?"_

_Green light flickered across Evelyn's too-pale face, uneasy, uncanny emerald fire from the palm of the woman next to him. The elf, he knew, the one who'd survived. He didn't look up, wouldn't look up, not until he could do so without wanting to jam Bianca down her throat and pull the trigger. Why her? Why this nameless nobody Dalish elf and not his Evelyn?_

_"I'm sorry," the elf said._

_She even sounded sincere. It was sometimes just not fair, his ability to see all sides of a story. It made him a better writer, sure, but right now he didn't want to know it wasn't her fault, that she was a victim, too. He wanted to hate her._

_"Yeah," he said, finding no other words to express it._

_He stood, wiping his hands on his pants, then turned and followed Cassandra's ramrod back deeper into the ruins, pushing past Solas. If he didn't go now, he might never manage it. Might never leave her again._

_The elf – what was her name? he should be able to remember her name – stayed alongside him. "You knew her, then?"_

_He didn't answer her for several paces._

_"Once."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Did I not mention the end of the prompt? Oh, it was this:
> 
> If you want to go dark, Varric finds Trevelyan among the dead (since it's implied, like with Origins, the other potential Heralds all died at the Conclave)
> 
> Um. So. I went dark.)


	5. The Happy Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Since the dark ending bummed people out, even tho I loved it, I thought I'd whip out a quick happier ending, where Trevelyan is the one who survives the explosion. I present it here, just for fun.)

_"…Evelyn Trevelyn, youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick."_

_The woman who had arrived with Cassandra turned from her inspection of Solas and smiled at him, slow and delighted. He saw a familiar sparkle in those green-and-gold eyes, saw the girl in the woman she'd become, and ignored his skipped heartbeat. "Varric Tethras," she said, "rogue, storyteller…"_

_"And occasional unwelcome tagalong," he finished with a wink at Cassandra._

_Cassandra grimaced._

_"You're with the Chantry now?" she asked, disbelief shading her words._

_Before he could answer, Solas chuckled. "Was that a serious question?"_

_"Technically, I'm a prisoner. Just like you."_

_"Old times," Evelyn said, a wry quirk to her lips._

_He grinned at her._

_"I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine," Cassandra interrupted, annoyed. "Clearly that is no longer necessary."_

_"Yet, here I am," he said to her, then to Evelyn he remarked, "Lucky for you, considering current events."_

_"I see you still have Bianca."_

_Oh, that accent. "Of course. We've been through a lot together. And she'll be great company in the valley."_

_"Absolutely not!" Cassandra said, bristling and stepping closer. She sighed. "Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—"_

_"Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me."_

_She wanted to argue further, he could tell that, but in the end all she did was make a disgusted noise and turn away._

_"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," Solas said, smiling at Evelyn. "I am pleased to see you still live."_

_For a moment, but only one, Varric debated shooting him in the knee. "He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.' "_

_Evelyn turned to Solas. They spoke of the mark and the mission while Varric finally took a moment to come to grips with it._

_Evelyn._

_Here._

_Marked._

_He had heard that the woman who survived was a noble from the Free Marches, but though he'd thought briefly of her, he had never truly suspected it would prove to be her. But here she was, still tall with unreasonably long legs, but older, more mature, her face thinned out. She had a tiny scar above one eye. It made him angry. Someone had hurt her, cut her, and not bothered to see it properly healed._

_Then again, he had his own share of scars._

_"We must get to the forward camp quickly," Cassandra said, breaking into his musings. She strode off as though she intended to stab the breach to death, Solas trailing in her wake, leaving him alone with Evelyn for a moment._

_"So," she said. "I see it did scar after all." She touched the bridge of her nose._

_"I see you found your something remarkable," he said._

_"I almost wish I hadn't, now. You could've warned me that remarkable things usually come with remarkable peril."_

_"It's not my fault you haven't read any of my books. They make that pretty clear."_

_She chuckled, soft and rich. Like her. "We should probably hold off on the awkward bit of this conversation until we're somewhere more stable."_

_"That's adorable. You think there's any place stable at the moment."_

_"I'll make a stable place," she promised. "I want that conversation."_

_He found he believed her. She had that air, now, something honed from the hints of command he had seen in her previously. The people that Cassandra had collected would follow her. She would pull them to her effortlessly. He knew that kind of charisma, had followed it through Kirkwall._

_Hawke. She reminded him of Hawke._

_That was more dangerous to him than the innocent girl she had been, full of mischief and delight._

_"Well," he said, "Bianca's excited."_

_"Let's catch up to the others. I'd hate for them to run into something they can't handle without us." So saying, she trotted ahead to pass Solas and catch up to Cassandra, waiting for them just down the path._

_He walked toward them._

_Solas cocked his head at Varric as they trailed in the wake of the women. "You know her, then?"_

_"I knew her," he corrected the elf. "Once."_


End file.
